At Home with Beverly: The sea brings life to the seabird, but what does the bird bring the sea?

The sea brings life to the seabird, but what does the bird bring the sea?

What has it to offer in return for the wealth the great ocean supplies?

So small, so insignificant compared to the infinite turquoise and blue, it brings nothing, living only to receive. Watching, expecting, the bird skitters back and forth as wave moves forth and back. It is a dance between great sea and tiny bird. From crested wave to crested wave, the bird dips as the wave bows, gathering its fill at tide’s edge. The ocean provides. The bird partakes. Give, receive. Give, receive.

There is so much more to the sea than this tiny bird has ever known; billow upon billow stretches to worlds to which this tiny bird has never flown. The surf itself dwarfs it; how could the bird ever fathom the depths of its provider?

So the sea meets it here—here, where land receives tide. Here the bird greets the sea, and knows only that each wave releases treasure, bounty for him to discover and enjoy.

The sea roars in delight, roiling to an abrupt release at land’s end. Little seabird waits, charging the sand where wave has receded. The power of the surf threatens to overwhelm him. He darts back, sometimes with a wing-assisted hop, to protect himself from being overcome, then scuttles forward in confident assurance.

“What did you bring to me, great sea? What delicacies have you yielded up for me?”

And what brings the bird? Only his hunger, or perhaps his faith.

The sea needs nothing. It gives relentlessly, yielding more upon more, asking little of the bird whose inconsequential weight leaves no print in the sand. Still the sea gives, unbothered, even pleased with the company of this tiny beggar who feeds from the hem of its garment.

A nameless bird. A bird like me.

Oh God, who am I beside you? Insignificant, never able to reach the limits of my provider’s height or breadth, length or depth. Fed and supplied by one so powerful, one who meets me where I can reach. Who never fails to supply me with more than I might ever need. Who satisfies my desires with good things.

How can it be that you are content with me? That you find joy in loving me, never exhausted by my inexhaustible need? That you provide for me like the sea provides for this impoverished bird: it is too much. I cannot attain it.

Would that I might nibble like this bird after each wave deposits its delights, confident that, roaring with delight, you have brought me life, doling out feast upon feast, until I am satiated with your goodness, aware that there is enough, more than enough.

May I, Lord, be like the little seabird that the ocean feeds. May I remain confident that day after day, you bring all that you would have for me.

May I, inconsequential as I am, delight in you as you delight in me. May I ask daily, “What did you bring me today, Great One Who Sees? What delicacies have you yielded up to me?”

Like the tiny seabird, may my gift to you be expectant hope in the evidence of things unseen. May my life be lived in joyful gratitude for your company, which keeps me every day and all night through.